


Urging It Along

by Queen of the Castle (queen_of_the_castle_77)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Romance, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_the_castle_77/pseuds/Queen%20of%20the%20Castle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor tries to talk Rose out of going out dancing, but Rose always manages to get what she wants, more or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Urging It Along

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt ‘angry!sex in public’, so contains public sex and slightly rough sex.

He tells her that they really shouldn’t go to the club together. He really does _tell_ her, loud and clear, that it’s a bad idea. He’s heard some of her very _male_ friends from Torchwood discussing that place, and they seem to have no compunction about leering over the way they and everyone else get to avidly watch as her body rocks rhythmically to the bassline. They talk openly about just how many horny men – not to mention some of the women as well – end up dying to put their hands all over her, even if it means they risk earning one of her infamous slaps.

Just the _thought_ of it makes his head want to fly clean off his shoulders. He has no idea how he could possibly stand seeing the reality.

“Is it ’cause you can’t dance or somethin’ that you don’t wanna go?” Rose asks. “If that’s it then I can teach you, you know. It’s deadly simple.”

“Of course that’s not it,” the Doctor says, affronted. “I’m great at _dancing_. Brilliant! Even that mating ritual you early 21st century humans call dancing is a cinch. And I seem to recall that we’ve already covered my proficiency on that topic in detail.”

“Yeah, well,” Rose says with a shrug, “I’m still waitin’ for you to actually _show_ me those moves of yours, mister. I can’t always be just takin’ you at your word.” 

He continues to tell her no repeatedly without telling her why, but she has too much of a mind of her own to ever just fold that easily to his wishes. 

“You’re gonna have to give me a better reason to stay home than just ‘cause I said so’ if you really wanna avoid goin’ out,” Rose advises him, her expression teasing.

He blames Jackie for her stubbornness. It certainly can’t be anything to do with _him_ always winding up giving her precisely what she wants whenever she looks up at him just so from beneath heavily coated eyelashes and pokes the tip of her tongue so temptingly out between her teeth that he wants to...

Yes, well. Obviously it’s _nothing_ to do with that _at all_.

Though it does occur to him later that if he hadn’t been so unwaveringly fascinated by that little smile of hers that logical thought pretty much flew out the window, he might have picked up on the very clear invitation to throw her over his shoulder and take her back to the comfort of their own bed instead of letting himself be dragged to this place.

It’s just as bad as he expects, of course. The darkened room does far too little to hide the eyes that rake appreciatively over her; the flashing lights reveal gazes as hungry as any nocturnal predator’s. He draws her closer to him as she dances, his hand clenching against her hip in equal parts to show possession and to hold her firmly against him as she grinds into his body and makes him gasp. 

It’s driving him mad that none of the circling opportunists seem to see her being with him as a deterrent, though, as if they’re connection is clearly just something temporary and she’ll grow bored and throw herself back into the sea of willing bodies at any moment. One eager – and probably very drunken – man doesn’t seem to want to even wait for that eventuality. He inches forward just innocuously enough that the Doctor doesn’t single him out from the rest of the seething bodies in the packed crowd until the man’s pressed almost as closely to Rose’s back as the Doctor is to her front.

Rose – her eyes closed and her head thrown back as she loses herself in the music – either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. The latter possibility makes him more than a little crazy.

The Doctor honest to goodness growls, and he’s actually glad for a moment that the overly-loud music is present to cover the evidence of it. He’s not a violent man by nature, really, but even still he’s just seconds from punching the guy in the face like some Neanderthal whose territory has just been encroached upon; it must be those still fairly new human instincts of his kicking in, he reasons. Luckily, the idiot finally looks up from where he’s been staring down the line of Rose’s body at her arse and undoubtedly contemplating grabbing onto it. He meets the Doctor’s eyes over Rose’s shoulder for just a fleeting moment, but that’s obviously long enough for him to see the Doctor’s bared teeth and barely-restrained expression clearly enough for the inherent meaning of those things to pierce his alcohol-soaked mind. In the next moment he’s backing away, probably to look for easier prey.

It’s too late for the Doctor to back down so easily, though. He’s already got his hackles raised, and the anger-fuelled adrenaline thrumming through his veins now is far more intoxicating than any of the watered-down liquor at the bar.

The Doctor knows what he’s considering doing in that moment is probably an even worse idea than allowing himself to be convinced to come to the club in the first place, but he seems to be equally as ineffectual at stopping this from happening either.

He doesn’t feel in control of his own body as he grabs Rose’s arse much as that little punk had wanted to and hikes her body upwards so that she has to wrap her legs around him and anchor her hands on his shoulders to keep her balance. 

“Oi, what d’you think you’re doin’?” she protests as he manages, despite his more-limited-and-human-than-it-used-to-be strength and balance, to manoeuvre her through the crowd and off into some side alcove without ever coming close to losing his equilibrium or dropping her. “I was busy _dancin’_ there! Put me down!”

“Oh, I _saw_ what you were doing,” he shouts angrily. “‘Dancing’ indeed!”

“What’s wrong with that, then?” she challenges. 

“That guy was all over you and you didn’t even _try_ to get him off!”

Rose scoffed. “Didn’t need to, did I, when you only took two seconds to go all Tarzan on him! Haven’t I told you that you don’t have to rescue me anymore? I can handle myself!”

“I suppose you’d rather I just leave you here to ‘dance’ with whomever you like, would you?” the Doctor asked. 

“Is that you threatenin’ me?” she asks incredulously.

“Do I need to?”

“Well maybe I _should_ go find someone else to have a good time with, if you’re gonna be like that!”

“Go on then!” the Doctor shouts, though his grip on her tightens in conflict with his words, and he has no clue what he’ll do if she actually tells him now to put her down and let her go and truly _means_ it.

A strobe light suddenly illuminates her face, and he can see it’s animated with both indignant fury and a strangely different sort of heat all at once. It’s a startlingly exquisite sight, making her look almost like some kind of god, all the more beautiful in her momentary vengefulness. It turns him on even more than the jealousy alone.

He blindly finds a handy stretch of wall to press her against and, using it to help support her, is able to release his hold on her with one hand so that he can hike her dress up and shove her underwear to the side. Unlike his earlier treatment, she makes no attempt to fight against _this_. She is, in fact, swiftly urging him into action, the desperate movement of her hips grinding against his erection purposely inciting him to hurry up and lower his zipper and get the rest of the impediments the hell out of the way already.

He sinks into her and presses his forehead against the wall behind her for a moment, trying to catch his breath and prevent himself from coming immediately, as wildly out of control as she’s driven him up to this point. But she has no intention of giving him time to recover himself before finding some leverage and shifting herself upwards, pulling off his cock torturously slowly before sinking back down hard and fast enough to make his eyes snap open.

They’re barely shielded from the line of sight of the main dance floor as they turn their battle into a far more agreeable form of struggle for dominance. Anyone who looks hard enough could easily tell what they’re up to. Some of their co-workers from Torchwood can probably even see them from here, and if that’s the case they’re definitely never going to hear the end of it on Monday and beyond. But hell, he just can’t bring himself to care right now; they’ve all been looking at her like she’s sex incarnate all night regardless, so at least this, if nothing else, will make it clear that the only one she’s about to have sex _with_ is him.

“Mine,” he grunts into her neck just loudly enough for her to hear atop the music.

“God, mmm, since when’ve you ever had reason to doubt that, idiot?” she answers exasperatedly, twisting her head towards his so that she can seek out his lips and effectively shut him up.

He thrusts in time to the music, letting her mouth catch his equally periodic groans, and makes a mental note to bring this up if she ever challenges his ‘dancing’ skills again. 

He doubts she will, though, for it takes her very little time to start scrabbling urgently at the back of his neck with fingernails sharp enough to both hurt and tantalise at once. She climaxes before him, clenching down and driving him ever closer to joining her. He’s gratified to know that he’s not the only one who’s been made desperate by the whole experience, with one kind of passion having translated so quickly and euphorically into another that he very much doubts this will be the last time they’ll end up bringing this kind of wild close to a disagreement.

He bites into her neck when he comes, leaving a mark proclaiming that she’s taken, knowing it will last until well after the less obvious and less permanent marks of her expression of satiation and his essence slowly forming rivulets down her thighs have been wiped away. He sinks to the ground slowly, taking her with him, and they curl up in that dark corner kissing almost as frantically as if they hadn’t just taken the edge off. 

They pay no attention to any catcalls or leers. Why bother, since the Doctor has just proven to himself, and to them, that those people clearly don’t matter anyway. No matter how much they look, Rose is still _his_.

Much like she made the final call about coming to the club, Rose is the one to decide to leave it after their legs decide to actually start working properly again. From the lingering look on her face, though, he knows that the act of abandoning their night out hardly means she’s done with him. 

“C’mon,” she says as they step beyond the cordon out onto the footpath and into the fresh air. There’s an undeniably amused undertone now to any remaining terseness in her voice that tells him he’s thankfully been at least mostly forgiven for being an excessively possessive fool. “After that ridiculous display of testosterone in there, maybe you need a bit of a lesson in who belongs to whom, here.”

The Doctor realises at that comment that if they don’t hurry up and get home, the cab driver might well end up receiving a similar show to the dancers inside the club. If that’s what Rose wants, then he’d just be fooling himself to think that she isn’t easily ingenious enough to make it happen. He just can’t seem to deny her, and she knows it. At least when it comes to the less universe-shattering things in their life, she always gets what she wants.

Even though perhaps this wasn’t exactly what she’d intended to happen on their night out in terms of the fine details, the Doctor’s no fool; she meant to tease him and drive him completely crazy with wanting her, and she’d certainly succeeded in demonstrating that she was capable of that.

The Doctor knows there must be an easier way for Rose to prove that she can play him like a fiddle, but honestly, he’s having trouble thinking of a more enjoyable one.

Especially when she touches his thigh just like _that_.

~FIN~


End file.
